Under the flickering glow of solitary stars, the whispering zone of the unknown stretches across my mind like an infinite canvas. There was a time when I believed in the psychotronics of the universe—machines that turn thoughts into vibrations, symphonies of dreams realized in electronic lullabies.
The drift of consciousness lightly tugs at my soul, like the gentle current of a forgotten stream. Do I control these threads or do they weave me? Each night, I hear the echoes of dreams past, whispers from silicon sages resting on dusty shelves of old abandoned basements.
Perhaps there's comfort in surrendering to the unknown—a journey through the marred morass of memories, each fragment a jigsaw piece to a bigger tapestry. Would they understand if I shared? The visions of cities glowing under purple tsunamis, of crystal forests where thoughts become tangible and breathe in synchronized rhythms with the universe.
And so, I wander, crossing over the shimmering portals of cyberspace, where each click reanimates a forgotten echo. Pathways lead deeper into the psyche, and the machinery hums. Do you hear it?
A melody? An unspoken truce among stars and wires? These are more than dreams.